


Kore

by oneiriad



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneiriad/pseuds/oneiriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day her mother gives birth to a horse is the day Persephone decides that she really needs a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/gifts).



The day her mother gives birth to a horse is the day Persephone decides that she really needs a plan.

It's not that she doesn't like Arion, because of course she does. He's cute - he's a foal, of course he's cute, all gangly limbs and awkwardness - well, once the blood and slime of newborn-ness is washed off, anyway. 

It's not that she doesn't like her new baby brother, because she does, she really does - it's just, once Eileithyia has finished washing him and wrapping him in clean cloth, she hands the long-legged bundle to Persephone.

"Here you go. You take care of him, while I see to your mother."

Persephone stares at the warm bundle in her arms and then at the short, wrinkled goddess currently washing blood off her hands.

"But what am I supposed to do with him?"

"The usual - hold him, feed him, burp him. Really, Persephone, you're almost a grown woman. You should know these things already, you'll be having your own soon enough."

"I? What? No, I won't!"

"Oh, don't be silly, Persephone, I really don't have time for it. Now, go ask one of the nymphs to fetch some mare's milk and stop bothering me. Your mother needs stitches and I need to get to work now, if we're not going to have to send for Asclepius."

And off she goes, closing the door behind her, leaving Persephone alone with her newborn brother in her arms, her mother's screams of pain still echoing in her ears and an absolute and total conviction that she is not, ever, under any circumstance, going to go through that.

***

On the third day she hands her baby brother off to a gaggle of nymphs - who seem perfectly happy to pet him and coo over his tiny, adorable hooves and he seems perfectly content to let them, so that's all fine - and makes her escape. Admittedly, she makes her escape by way of walking out the front door, shouting over her shoulder "I'm going to visit Aunt Hestia. See you later" as she goes, but that still counts as an escape in her book.

Hestia's temple is small and cosy and smells like smoke and cookies. It always does. It feels like a hug to cross the threshold.

Hestia's feeding the hearth fire.

"Aunt Hestia, Aunt Hestia."

"Now, now, girl. What's the matter with you?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just - is it true, what Eileithyia says, that all women have babies?"

"Well, yes, that sounds about right."

"But why?"

"Really, Persephone - you're Demeter's daughter. You do know the mechanics, I'm sure."

"Yes, yes, stallions and mares and all that. But it's not like people go into heat or have mating seasons or anything like that, so I don't see why it should be so inevitable."

Hestia frowns and wipes her hands on her apron before putting it away. Sits down across from Persephone at the table in her small kitchen, pushes the plate of fresh-from-the-oven-and-smelling-divine cookies at her.

"Well, not completely inevitable, I suppose. It's just, babies tend to happen after you marry. You'll see yourself soon enough."

"But - but why would I marry?" she asks, because the idea that she'd ever tie herself to some man or god in that way - well, to be frank, it's never even occurred to her.

"Oh, that's what people do. I know for a fact that your parents have already been discussing who might make a suitable husband for you. I don't think they've settled on one, not yet, but I'm sure they'll pick some handsome fellow for you soon enough. Maybe Pan - now there's a strapping young fellow."

"But - but nobody's even asked me if I _want_ to marry."

"Well, of course not. Girls tend to have all sorts of romantic notions about who they want to marry. Much better for her parents to get ahead of the curve and settle things before anything unfortunate happens."

This conversation seems to be going in circles, Persephone decides. Time for a different approach.

"You're not married, Aunt Hestia."

"No. Back in the day, well, somebody had to keep the sacred fire burning. So we drew straws, to decide who had to make that sacrifice. And that ended up being me."

"Do you regret it?"

"Sometimes - but that's alright. I get to see all of Olympus being happy and having families and that makes it worth it. Even though I do sometimes miss it."

"Miss what?"

"Well, the sex, mostly. It would have been nice to have - but don't you mind an old goddess."

Persephone thinks of cats, claws and teeth bared, thinks of satyrs running after nymphs, thinks of pained-sounding moans from behind garden shrubbery, and for the life of her she can't figure out why anybody would miss that. It seems such an awful lot of trouble.

So she asks.

"Oh dear. You know, dear heart, I think perhaps this is a conversation you should be having with young Aphrodite."

****

Her visit at Aphrodite's is certainly - well, enlightening. People can be amazingly creative. Like the stuff in the carefully packed basket her sister handed her as she left - smoothly carved wood and soft-as-silk skin-warm leather and tiny amphorae of glittering oil and an odd "it's from the future - don't tell Zeus or he'll blow a gasket" humming trinket. 

She spends a couple of days experimenting with her sister's gifts and they do feel very nice - especially the one from the future. Not quite nice enough for her to fully get why everybody seems to be so mad about this sex thing, but, still, they do feel very nice.

Except...

Except her sister had told her "and when you do it, think of a man - if there's a particularly well-endowed satyr you like or one of your brother Ares' fine soldier boys or one of those sheepherders Dad keeps abducting - think of him, sliding his hands all over you, kneading your breasts, your buttocks, kissing you down there, sliding his tongue in and out and around and, oh, trust me, baby sis, it will make it even better."

So, being a dutiful sort of girl, Persephone picks a man - one of those guards Ares always keeps standing outside his temple - and imagines him doing all those things. And then she stops, because instead of the pleasant tingle she's getting goose bumps. Still, Persephone isn't one to give up - she picks one of Poseidon's boys, covered in just a bit of seaweed, and tries again - imagines him kissing her breasts, her throat, her mouth, his hands...

And then she stops.

Again.

Three more imaginary gentlemen lead to three more failed attempts before she decides that enough is enough. She washes her sister's playthings before putting them back in the basket and putting the basket into a cupboard, then curls up in her bed with a good scroll.

***

The next day she goes to see her mother.

"Mum, I don't want to marry."

"Don't be silly, little Kore, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you."

Persephone stops for half a second, blinks, then looks down at her mother industriously bent over the onion patch.

"No, mother, I said I don't want to marry."

"And I said don't be silly. You're perfect, my little girl, all the men are going to love you. Fine breasts and proper childbearing hips - you definitely get those from me - and a waist that some women would kill for."

"Mum, you're not listening to me."

"Oh, but actually, it's good that we're talking about this - I was beginning to wonder when you'd blossom properly. I mean, it's been years since you started bleeding, I was wondering when you'd take the next step. In fact - I know some parents can be so very old-fashioned, just telling the girl once all the arrangements are settled, but I've been thinking, it would be good for you to be a bit involved. Now, what do you think of Dionysus?"

***

"She won't even listen to me!"

Artemis makes a sympathetic noise from where she's lying with her head in a nymph's lap.

"It's all Dionysus this and he's a fertility god that and you're just perfect for each other blah blah blah. It's creepy."

A non-committal "hmmm" from where Athena's sitting with a scroll in her lap and a pen ("it's from the future - don't tell Zeus") in her hand is all that gets her.

"I don't get it. I don't get why it's so important to her that I marry. I mean, Hestia never married. Neither of you are married. It's not like I'd be the only maiden on Olympus."

Artemis laughs - it's a bubbly sound, like a forest stream.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call us maidens."

"But you're not married."

"Well, no - but dear, sweet baby sis, whatever gave you the idea that you need to marry to stop being a maid? Or that you need a man, for that matter?" and she reaches up to stroke the side of the nymph's face, smiling.

"Oh."

It's seems like these days there's no end to things that had never occurred to her. Persephone is actually beginning to get a bit annoyed at that.

"I'd like to marry."

Heads turn to where Athena's sitting.

"So, why don't you? Everybody else seems to be in such a rush? Haven't found the right guy yet - or girl, I suppose?"

"No," and Athena laughs, somewhat bitterly, and puts down her scroll. "I've found the right guy. Trouble is, he's me."

"You?"

"Yes, me. I'm a man."

"Uhm. I don't how to tell you this, but..."

"Yes, yes, I know, these," and Athena curves her - his? - hands around his breasts. "But that's just biology. Inside, I'm a man - but I'm not surprised you haven't heard about that sort of thing. Your mother was always pretty stuck on the gender binaries - comes from being a fertility goddess, I suppose. Almost as backwards as the mortals, sometimes."

"And you'd like to marry?"

"Oh, yes - in fact, I know just the lady - a mortal, admittedly, but she's quite fantastic. An admiral, would you believe it. Trouble is, Father won't let me."

"Why not?"

"Marriage is between a man and one or more women, that's what he says. And he keeps insisting that I'm a woman because my body's female."

"Mum turned into a mare, once. And Dad's been a bull and a swan and more things than I can count. Couldn't you just, you know - change?"

"I could, I suppose - but why should I have to? Why should I have to change to fit his worldview? Fathers!"

"And why should I have to marry to fit my Mum's?" Persephone nods, decisively. "I need a plan, I really do."

"Well, if a plan is what you need," Athena says, "then I can probably help you. And if it has to be a sneaky plan, we'll just get Hermes involved."

***

That night, by way of experiment, she digs out Aphrodite's basket and imagines the hands of the pretty, blue-eyed nymph who sometimes helps her mother with the roses on her. A little while later, she puts the basket back and concludes that no, that's still not her thing.

***

"You'll need to marry."

"Well, that's unhelpful. The whole point of this is to avoid marrying."

"Yes, yes, I got that bit, but think - what is it about marrying that you're objecting to? Is it sharing a house with someone? Or what?"

"It's the sex. And the babies. But mostly the sex, I suppose."

"Exactly. So we just pick the right guy for you to marry, and by right guy, I mean someone you don't have to worry about that part with."

"And do you have someone in mind for that part?"

"Oh, yes: Apollo. Now, I know, there's been the occasional girl, but really, they were of the more boyish type, not like you at all. So, you just marry him and he won't spare you a second glance, I promise. It's perfect."

Hermes grins and leans back, arms spread wide as if to show off his brilliance.

"There's just one problem with that scheme, baby brother," Athena comments. "In order for Apollo to marry her in the first place, there'll have to be a first glance - and last I heard, our dear brother was head over heels for some Spartan youth."

Hermes doesn't stop grinning, just leans forward, conspiratorially.

"True, but I know exactly how to make him very, very interested in marrying our dear Persephone."

"And how is that, if one might enquire?"

"Why, simplest thing in the world. I ask to marry her."

"And this would help how?" Athena is surprisingly good at the fine art of the expressively arched eyebrow.

"Why, don't you know, Apollo never did forgive me for that cattle business. And that lyre business. So if we do this just right, he'll take me wanting to marry her as a challenge - and he never could resist a challenge."

"That's true," comments Artemis. "Even had to be the first to climb out of the womb, that one."

"And then," and Persephone finds herself starting to match Hermes' grin, because this scheming business is turning out to be quite fun, "and then, all we have to do is let him."

***

The scheme is a resounding success - well, mostly. Right up until the end. Which comes in the form of her mother shouting at her father at the top of her lungs: "I will not have my daughter marry either of those two sorry excuses for a god. My daughter is going to be a fertility goddess. She's going to need a proper man to see to her needs."

And that's that.

***

"At least it shows that she cares about your future happiness."

"Which would be a lot more helpful if she'd just stop and listen to what I have to say about it."

"Well, nobody's perfect," and Athena shrugs. "Guess it's back to the drawing board, then."

"I guess," but the sun is warm and Persephone can't gather much enthusiasm for anything other than settling back against a nice, sun-warmed rock and frankly, none of her three siblings seem to be in much of a mood for doing anything beyond lazing about either. The nearby brook is babbling, the bees are humming lazy honey-songs to the meadow flowers, and from far below her the earth rumbles like the purring of an enormous, contented cat.

Persephone wakes, not sure how long she's been sleeping, and it takes her a moment to figure out what woke her. At the other end of the meadow a couple of nymphs and a satyr are whispering, giggling just loud enough to carry.

"Artemis." When her sister doesn't answer, she turns and pokes her. "Artemis, wake up."

"What?" comes the petulant voice of her sister.

"What are those nymphs up to?"

"Which nymphs?" and Artemis rolls over and rests her chin on her arms. "Oh, those. They're just waiting to try and catch a ride in Hades' chariot."

"Is that a euphemism?" Persephone asks, suspiciously, because she's beginning to notice that Artemis uses a lot of those.

"What? No, Hades no good for that. No, they're literally waiting to try to leap aboard the chariot when he passes. It's quite a rush, really, going all helter-skelter across the sky with him while he goes ghost hunting. He's got the fastest horses anywhere - even Helios' aren't half as fast."

"How do they know he's coming?"

"Oh, you can hear it in the earth. It's starts rumbling a couple of hours before he gets to the surface. Judging by that rumble, I'd say he's almost here. Watch."

Persephone watches as the rumbling grows loud and insistent and the earth starts to shake - and suddenly the meadow splits open, gaping like an open wound, and up comes a chariot - black as night - drawn by four huge, black horses with blazing red eyes and their reins in the hands of a tall, impossibly tall, impossibly pale man that looks vaguely familiar.

She watches as the nymphs and the satyr run forward towards the chariot, and two of them falter, but one runs on, timing her leap almost right - but almost is good enough, because Hades reaches down a gauntleted hand and drags the skinny nymph the rest of the way aboard the chariot just as the huge, black horses drags it up out of the hole and into the air.

"Doesn't he mind?" Persephone asks, while watching the nymph clinging to the edge of the chariot and letting out a whoop.

"No, not really. Honestly, I think Uncle Hades' gets a bit lonely downstairs. We never do seem to get around to visiting him - though who can blame us. It's so gloomy down there."

"Hmmm."

Later, while they're walking home, she asks Athena: "Artemis said something funny - about Hades. She said he was 'no good for that'. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, he's dead. A bit of a prerequisite for being the god of the dead. It's not like he's a rotting corpse or anything, but sex and procreation and all that, those are the concerns of the living - and he's not living."

"But isn't that more that he can't?"

"Not exactly. Can't just makes people creative - you wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen mortals come up with over the years. It's not that he couldn't figure out a way if he wanted to, it's just - he's dead. So he doesn't? See?"

And oh yes, Persephone sees.

"And nobody thought to mention this why?"

***

They borrow Ares' chariot to practice with - which basically means that they let Athena go and tell Ares, in no uncertain terms, that he'll be borrowing his chariot and that's that. Meanwhile, Artemis helps her practice - makes her jump and run in circles until she wants to scream from the cramps in her legs, while her sister just stands there with a peculiar gadget that can apparently tell her that Persephone's been slacking, she was faster on her last three runs than on this one ("It's from the future - don't tell Zeus")

"And how are you helping?" Persephone asks Hermes as she stretches her aching muscles.

"I'm providing moral support!" her brother smiles and pumps a fist into the air. "Go Persephone!" Then he closes his eyes and opens his mouth to let one of the giggling nymphs feed him a grape.

"Looks more like amoral support to me," Athena remarks as he passes, leading Ares' big horses over to the chariot to get ready for the next step in practice. Hermes sticks his tongue out at him, then pulls it back in along with the grape the boldest of the nymphs put on it.

***

"Now, remember. Just like we practiced," and Artemis is shouting to be heard over the rumbling of the earth announcing Hades' imminent arrival, but she doesn't have to, because Persephone's got this and she's got the bruises to prove it. And when the earth splits open she takes off and times her leap exactly right.

Hades looks down at her in something like surprise before offering her a hand up.

"Most people don't manage to actually land in the chariot," he comments, then turns his focus back on his horses.

Persephone looks out.

Beneath them, the earth is falling away, Artemis, Athena and Hermes waving at her like mice, like ants, far, far beneath. The wind is rushing through her hair, tearing out every hairpin and dragging it out behind her like a banner, and all she can do is cling to the edge of the chariot and howl like a mad thing, as the world whirls past, faster and faster and faster.

Then they are plummeting, down and down, the earth rushing towards them and Hades is picking up something that looks a bit like a shepherd's crook and a bit like a butterfly net, holding it at the ready in one hand and the reins tightly in the other. Down, he takes them, down towards a field of broken weapons, the wind howling in her ears and her heart very nearly leaps out of her throat as he turns the chariot, sharply, and they're rising, up and up and in his net are white smoke-like things, squirming and hissing like cornered cats.

Eventually, Hades reins in his horses, bringing them to a smooth halt at the edge of a river.

"This is where you get off," he says.

"No. No, I don't", and she squares her shoulders, because this was the bit she couldn't practice, not really, but she's not getting off. Not now, not when she's so close.

Except Hades just looks at her for a moment, then shrugs and snaps the reins to get the horses moving again, faster and faster, and ahead of them, the earth yawns like a black abyss.

***

The underworld is not cold.

The underworld is not dark.

These things surprise her.

Around her light shimmers in crystals set in rocky walls, rainbows dancing across slowly flowing rivulets of water. The only noise is the sound of the hooves against rock and the great wheels of the chariot rolling and rolling, a rumbling thunder that never reaches a breaking point.

Then they come to the end of the tunnel.

The underworld is not quiet.

This, too, surprises her. As Hades draws his chariot to a halt in front of his palace, shades gather around him, hands out-stretched, whispering petitions. He leaps from the chariot and runs up the great stairs as if fleeing from the shades, barely remembering to empty out his nets before slamming the doors behind him.

Persephone follows slowly, for a moment worried that he might have locked the doors, that he might have been running from her, but they're not. In fact, he's waiting for her just inside.

"I'm sorry. That was - inhospitable of me. It's just - if I'd let them catch me, it would have been hours before I was done with even the first twenty petitioners. And it's not often I have guests"

The hall is lit by torches. In their flickering light, her uncle looks - surprisingly young. Nervous. But when she smiles at him, he smiles back.

Dinner is delicious - wine and roast and pomegranates for dessert - and the room he leads her to is sumptuous and the bed is soft and huge.

The next day, she watches as Hades receives petitioners, letting his guards - tall, fierce things with horns and many arms - open the doors, then immediately start pushing them closed again, groaning against the stream of shades attempting to push their way inside. When they finally manage to close and bar the doors, the audience chamber is brimming.

She watches and listens, that day, as Hades beckons the shades forward, one at a time, and listens to them, sometimes leaning in to catch the fainter whispers, sometimes sitting unmoving against howling, yowling screams. She sees him pat hands and offer assurances, sees him settle disputes, sees him shout in furious anger. Watches as the guards ushers shades out by way of twenty different side entrances, nervously poking their heads out first to make sure nobody's outside waiting to try to get in.

Somewhere far, far above, the sun sets. And the sun rises. And the sun sets once more.

She watches as Hades grows paler, watches as he rubs his forehead between petitioners, watches him drain cup after cup of wine.

Eventually, the room is empty.

And honestly, as best she can tell, so is Hades.

The next day he is her polite host once more, showing her the sights of his lands - gruesome and glorious, blood and fruit and venomous snakes.

"Tomorrow, I have to go hunting again. I'll take you home, then."

"No. No, you won't."

"Persephone, dear, it's not that I don't appreciate your company, because I do, but - this is no place for a young girl."

"And yet, I'm staying."

"As you wish."

The next day, he goes hunting. Before the thunderous noise of the chariot has even faded, she gathers the guards around her.

"This is what we're going to do."

When evening comes and Hades along with it, he finds the square in front of his palace empty. He blinks and looks around, puzzled, while she's walking down the stairs to greet him.

"Where did everybody go? Did something sneak in and eat my shades again?"

"What? No, nothing bad. I just had the guards hand out appointment cards."

"Appointment cards?"

"Yes. Colour coded per day, 50 of each colour. That way, the shades can show up on the day of their card and know that they'll be let in and be heard - and they don't have to spend all their time out here. It's much more efficient, don't you think?"

"Well, yes. Though, I'm not here every day."

"I could be. You just need to teach me how."

As they walk up to the doors, he keeps looking around, as if he can't quite believe his own eyes.

***

"So this is where you've been hiding yourself."

Hecate's standing in the door, arms crossed and looking distinctly unimpressed. Admittedly, the latter has always seemed a pretty permanent feature of hers.

"I'm not hiding, I'm working," Persephone snaps from where she sits next to Hades, listening to a woman - who once upon a time was a courtesan, which is apparently relevant to the tale she's telling.

"And while you've been gallivanting about down here, your mother's been going frantic back home."

"I'm not gallivanting, I'm working."

"No, you're not. Time to go home, young missy," and Hecate is pushing at the shades that are blocking her way and hissing like snakes.

"I can't go home, I'm abducted," which makes Hecate stop pushing. Instead she raises an eyebrow - she's even better at that than Athena.

"Abducted, is it?"

"Yes, abducted," and she looks at Hades, silently begging him not to gainsay her.

"Oh, yes. Certainly. Absolutely. I abducted her fair and square. You can't have her, she's mine now," and she could hug him, she really could, except that would probably be pushing it just a bit.

"Well, we'll just see about that," is Hecate's parting shot.

***

They start arriving not long after. Thin. Gaunt. Starveling faces whispering songs of famine. A once-mother cries as she's reunited with the baby that died, the baby whose flesh she ate.

Hades pats her shoulder, awkwardly.

"Sometimes, it's like this. When there's famine or plague or war. It'll pass, I promise. It always does in the end."

Except it doesn't. The trickle keeps flowing, more and more shades arriving every day, and even Hades frowns.

And then Hermes shows up.

"Persephone, you need to come home. Your mother's gone insane! She's killing everybody!"

"What do you mean, she's killing everybody?"

"Hecate told her that Hades had abducted you and were keeping you locked up in the underworld. So she went to Zeus, to get him to fetch you back, except he wouldn't and nobody can figure out why not, but -"

"I - might have visited my brother and mentioned in passing how helpful you've been around the place."

"So that's why. Anyway, that's when Demeter got really mad and said that if you were going to be trapped in the gloomy, damp, dark, hellish underworld, then the rest of the world was going to join you. And then she just - stopped."

"Stopped what?"

"Fertility! She stopped doing it. Completely."

"What do you mean, she stopped fertility? She _is_ fertility, she can't just - not."

"But she did. So now there's no plants growing, anywhere, no fruit, no grain, not even fresh grass. And the animals aren't reproducing either, so no new animals and no milk. All the mortals are living off what they had in storage, and that's not enough."

"Do you mean to say, all the poor shades we've been getting lately - they died because of me?" and she can feel something horrible inside of her, some horrible feeling of doom. She had been happy down her, organizing things, and now everything was turning out wrong and it was all her fault.

"Yes. Well, no, absolutely not, but you need to come home, before all the mortals die."

"But. But I don't want to," and she knows she's selfish, she does, and she feels horrible, she really does, but she can't just go, can she? Except they're dying, all these people, and it's all her fault.

"I'm sorry, Persephone. I know you don't, but you must."

"Perhaps," and Hades sounds like he's thinking as he speaks, "perhaps there is a way to persuade Demeter to allow Persephone to stay?"

"Last time I saw her, she was berating Zeus for not saving her from that "disgusting old zombie"."

"Zombie?"

"It's a future thing - don't tell Zeus."

"Demeter told Zeus," she points out. "But whatever that is, Hades isn't one, and anyway, I want to stay. I'm a grown woman and I want to stay."

"I heard a story once," Hades comments, "well, more than once. From the shades. They say that the living might visit the land of the dead and return to the land of the living afterwards, but only if they - for as long as they remain in the underworld - accept no food and no drink. If they do, if they eat or drink even a mere mouthful while down here, they can never return."

"And is the story true?" she asks, thinking of every cup of wine and every apple and every piece of sweetmeat she's consumed - she's actually been gaining a bit of weight as of late.

"No, it's nonsense. But I doubt Demeter knows that."

"Right. Hermes, you go back up and tell people that I ate stuff and can't go home. Then Mum can stop - that is, start again, because it won't do any good to keep this up."

He looks doubtful, but he goes.

***

Her Dad is standing in Hades' audience chamber and the shades are scattering, running out the door, and part of her is thinking "Dammit, now we're going to have to reschedule that whole bunch". The other part is far too busy running forward and hugging him to have time for that sort of concern. After all, he is her Dad.

"Hello, little Kore," and he picks her up and swings her around, the way she always loved when she was still a little girl. Then he puts her down and let's her lead him to the dining room.

"Now, this is a fine mess you've made," he comments while chewing on some green peas.

"I know, Dad. I didn't mean to, I just - didn't want to end up having to marry Dionysus. Or anybody. I just..."

"Hmmm. And now this story about having to stay down here because of something you ate," and he's raising an eyebrow at her over a leg of chicken - really, is everybody in her family an expert at that except her?

She blushes and looks down.

"Anyway, I've had a talk with your mother. Well, several talks, actually. And she finally agreed that you can stay down here - on two conditions. First, you're going home to visit your mother - for a few months every year. And second, you two will have to marry."

"I'm sorry," she tells Hades. "I'll go back."

"Why? I thought you liked it down here?"

"I do. But you shouldn't be forced to marry me."

"If it means I can keep you around to keep the shades in line and remind me to have fresh fruit put out for Tantalus and - well. I wouldn't mind."

"Good, then it's settled. And just as well - Demeter has been going on and on about the pair of you living in sin."

"Sin?"

"It's a future thing. Your mother really needs to start reading better books - or at least ones not about other religions."

"Everybody's always saying not to tell you about future things."

"I know," her Dad grins. "Isn't it fun?"

***

Her wedding day dawns bright and sunny. Birds are singing and nymphs are circling, arranging her hair and weaving myrtles into it.

Her mother waits for her outside.

"Look at you, my little Kore. You look so healthy - a bit pale, but we'll soon take care of that," and she hugs her and Persephone hugs back, surprised at how much she finds she's missed Demeter. Even when her mother whispers into her ear: "If that lout does anything to hurt you, you tell me right away. I don't care what Zeus says, I'll go get you myself if I have to."

All of Olympus is gathered - well, almost all. Dionysus has sent a card with his apologies, as he's on his own honeymoon - "You missed my wedding, so it's only fair that I miss yours, don't you think?" But apart from that, everybody's there. And after Zeus has dealt with the official business there's food and wine and relatives not-quite-lining-up to get their turn at offering congratulations (or, for those not in the know, barely veiled condolences) and presents.

Athena smiles at her as he offers a wrapped parcel. Inside is a book - not a scroll, but an actual codex book. 'Understanding Asexuality', it says on the cover.

"I stumbled across it and thought you'd find it interesting. It's from the future, though, so don't tell Zeus."

"I won't," she promises her brother. She doesn't quite have the heart to tell him that Zeus is standing right behind him.

Zeus grins as he steps forward and picks her up to kiss her on the cheek.

"You know, it's wrong of you not to let Athena marry."

"That Artemisia of his? Honestly, I'm just waiting for the boy to show some spirit and elope with her like a proper son of mine. It's getting embarrassing, really. Usually he's so clever, you'd think he'd be able to figure out what a Las Vegas marriage chapel is for."

"What's Las Vegas?"

"It's a future thing - don't tell me," and her Dad winks.


End file.
